She was drinking from a jar. Some kind of milky, orange liquid with sediment floating around in drifting swirls as i rushed toward her lips with tipping and then falling away to the bottom when returned to the table top. A rolling ocean of bile-like liquid. Her brows were knitted together in an angry glare, body posture defensive and yet challenging. She held her hand to her face like a fan, screening herself from possible glances. The room was warm, unusually so, but she wore a thick hoodie, zipped closed around her thin body, the hood pulled up and forward. Long sleeves were stretched longer to cover her hands so just the tips of her fingers jutted out. A coat was draped over the chair. When not moving the jar from the table to her lips, she folded her arms across her chest.
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